


Shallow Days

by deanpendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Lazy Mornings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanpendragon/pseuds/deanpendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin won't come back to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shallow Days

“Will you _please_ just come back over here?” Arthur pleads into his pillow.

“No.”

Merlin’s voice is rough with sleep and it makes Arthur hum. His comforters are still warm on top of him, but Merlin’s side of the bed is cooling fast. Well, it’s not _his_ side. The whole bed is Arthur’s. He just happens to be fond of sacrificing a little room for Merlin on some nights.

But he regrets it in the morning purely because Merlin always wakes up at the crack of dawn, habitually. Arthur’s never been a morning person. Even when he was younger, it’d take sometimes questionable methods to wake him from his slumbers. Arthur recalls a certain event involving two bear horns. He lets out a rumbly sigh and flips onto his back. He listens as Merlin swings back the heavy drapes, the sun demolishing all of the remaining shadows in Arthur’s room. 

“Come back here,” Arthur tries again, but Merlin’s already hopping into his trousers. Arthur groans, “No, no, don’t get dressed just yet.”

“I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Merlin huffs out a laugh.

“Can’t you spare another hour for me?”

“ _You_ have things to do,” Merlin answers matter-of-factly. “ _Kingly_ things. And more importantly, _I_ have things to do.”

“More importantly,” Arthur grumbles to himself. He smashes his face back against his soft pillow, but he can feel Merlin’s eyes on him now. When he sighs, it sounds far away. Perhaps he’s crossed the room and is now rifling through Arthur’s wardrobe. The thought of getting dressed makes him itch. 

Arthur hates sleeping with clothes on. Repeatedly, he’ll wake up with the hot fabric pressed against sticky skin, and then writhe around on top of his covers for a while until he cools down. It’s a vicious cycle. Strangely, he never gets hot with Merlin.

Well.

In a temperature sense, that is.

They could be crammed together from toe to hip to chest to forehead, and Arthur could stay like that all day long if Merlin’d let him. But Merlin’s a busybody, so Arthur takes what he can get. He longs for the days before he was crowned king, only because he and Merlin’s schedules were brief compared to the way they are now. These days, he’s lucky if he catches Merlin in the corridors for a passing kiss. Merlin’s mostly at his side, of course, but there is always something bigger at hand; something that transcends both the two of them and their needs; their longing to just be alone with each other. Sometimes Arthur thinks Merlin’s busier than _he_ is. 

Merlin’s filling his tub now. Arthur hears the _wsshhhh-splash_ of the water and the slight tinging of the metal pitcher when it runs empty. A hot bath doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world, and yet admittedly worse than just staying in the warm cocoon of blankets he’s made for himself. But oh, Merlin’s always so gentle with the washing. The thought alone is making him press his hips slowly into the bed. He lets out another deep sigh and if Merlin wasn’t looking at him before, he definitely is now. The quiet, dipping sound of water halts.

“Baby,” Arthur whines with another arch. 

“Arthur, please—”

“Come on, baby,” Arthur tries again, breathy this time.

Merlin makes a strangled sound and Arthur grins wickedly into his pillow.

“I can see you smirking. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I just think I’m _so smart_ , don’t I?” Arthur asks.

“Yes,” Merlin huffs—he’s getting short of breath, Arthur can tell.

“An hour,” Arthur growls distractedly, “just another hour.”

“Arthur,” Merlin replies, voice high and whining now.

It takes one more arch and exactly one half of another breathy moan before Merlin can be heard setting the pitcher down on Arthur’s desk with a muted sound and quickly shuffling his way across the room. Arthur doesn’t look up when the bed dips a little under Merlin’s slight weight. Merlin just curls himself into Arthur the way he always does, tip of his nose pressing just below Arthur’s left ear. Arthur turns and beckons him closer with a greedy hand on his back. They both sigh, then, comfortable and content. Arthur can practically feel the relief radiating off Merlin’s warm skin.

The day will come eventually—there’ll be speeches and meetings and polishing and training—and they both will get tired and bored and anxious and cranky, per usual.

But at least they’ve got each other, and at least they’ve got another hour.


End file.
